


Castaway

by Quillfiend



Category: League of Legends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 12:23:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19723621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillfiend/pseuds/Quillfiend
Summary: A knight keeps getting the same dream over and over, but what she believes to be a prophecy turns out to simply be a desperate cry for help.





	Castaway

_The swallow watches the sea, the wild, wild waves. Without thought or effort, she lifts off, lets the wind carry her up and around the foaming gulf; she's drawn to the horizon, to uncharted waters that belong to no king, only to mother Nagakabouros. Oblivious to the horrors swarming beneath her, the swallow glides through the cloudless skies, and it feels like a century spent in flight by the time she reaches her destination. Unfamiliar and yet known to her through forces she does not understand, she circles the island that so desperately called her to its shores; rocky and bleak, a singular building stands upon it, a long-abandoned lighthouse. Or is it?_

_Tired and hungry, the swallow dares swoop down to the white spire and perch upon one of the wooden window frames. A hand reaches out to grasp it; a weeping girl whispers her apologies before the world around becomes dark. A thousand eyes open, and an ancient god turns his gaze to you - into you._

  
  


Poppy woke up to a familiar, but hardly pleasant feeling: having her face splashed with cold water. She winced and wheezed, drawing a breath so deep it made her cough. It felt like drowning - both the awakening and what came before it.

„My apologies... Knight,“ the crown prince pronounced her title with much reluctance, „you were muttering. Calling out. It looked like some dark spell.“

„What?“ Poppy managed a single word; her hand instinctively wandered to her weapon. Orlon's hammer was lying nearby, just where she left it before she went to sleep. She was relieved to see her small, yordle fingers wrap around the hilt; she was still herself. With how often the dream returned, she feared that one day she'd wake up transformed into a hapless bird for good.

„You need to get up,“ Jarvan quickly abandoned the topic of magic and with it Poppy's question; he motioned to the exit of her tent. He was fully armored and seemed unhappy to be there, and Poppy had no idea why it was him who woke her personally. He could've sent a servant, or a soldier.

„Yes, of course,“ Poppy mumbled, rubbing her face in a dire attempt to toss herself back into reality, „I'm coming. Shortly.“

The prince snorted derisively and left her humble shelter. She heard him talking outside, but she was too dizzy to make out the words.

Why the swallows? What did they want of her? And who lived in the tower in the sea?

She was no thinker or a mystic, and that she could not solve this by bashing it with her hammer infuriated her. If only Demacians didn't hate wizards so much - if only there was one to help her...

  
  


Garen Crownguard stood on a hill in full ceremonial plate, and Poppy couldn't shake the thought that it looked as if there was a mountain on top of another mountain. It was ridiculous, of course, but it kept returning to her for some reason. Like the idea of tying a third pigtail.

When she reached him and stood at his side, Garen saluted her. Poppy returned the gesture and scanned the valley before them; a glinting river of steel and colourful banners trailed throughout the Nockmirch dale, a testament to the might of the Demacian army. It was impressive, and Poppy _knew_ she was supposed to feel excited, amazed, agitated, but the only thing on her mind was her returning nightmare.

„We will ride out as soon as the Bargate siege masters arrive,“ Garren announced and passed the little knight a jeweled telescope, „if the gods will it, Mirhold will be ours by the end of spring.“

„It will _have_ to be.“ Poppy looked through the magnifying glass, sighing at the sight of the shining cavalry. „Once the snow starts thawing, the Iceborn will pull back past the Ironspike ridge and Darius' entire trifaris will come to stop us.“

„I have faith. Even if it comes to that, we might be able to finally end this war.“

„They have mages. We cannot fight the entire Trifarian legion.“

The knights stood in silence for a moment; Poppy folded the telescope and handed it back to Garen.

„I will not be here for the first charge,“ she announced.

„What?“

„The dream keeps returning,“ she spoke, her tone urgent, „I can't ignore it. What if it's finally _it,_ Garen? What if Orlon is telling me to go somewhere?“

„That's not possible,“ Garen snapped, „why won't you just admit—„

„I'm not the _Hero,_ “ she interrupted him, „I know it in my heart that I am not, and neither are you, as much as I wish it was so.“

Garen frowned, resting his right hand on the sword that hung by his side. „A dream, hm. Dark sorcery, more like. Even Jarvan said—„

„So it was you who sent him? To see if I was cursed?“

„No, of course not. He just wanted to see for himself.“

Poppy bit her cheek and turned her eyes away from the army. Somehow she felt unworthy of it, of the honest soldiers that had their king's utmost trust, something _she_ did not have. It hurt, as if she failed Orlon's legacy.

„Jarvan would not let me lead the charge anyway,“ she muttered, „I have to prove that I'm not a witch. That I have no evil spell in me.“

„I'll speak to him.“

„If it was the other way around, would that be enough for you?“ she shrugged hopelessly, „acts speak louder than words. If I'm lucky, I'll be back in time to witness your glorious victory.“

Garen watched her as she swung Orlon's massive hammer over her shoulder and turned to walk away. She was determined to get to the bottom of this even if she had to part the sea itself to get to the faraway tower.

„Poppy, wait,“ he stopped her just before she got out of shouting range and jogged after her, „we need you. Demacia needs you.“

„I can't—„

„Take this,“ he huffed, pulling off his plated gauntlet and a gemmed ring from his finger. She relucantly raised her hand.

„The Crownguard family signet...“

„Ride to High Silvermere,“ Garen urged her, „speak to master Helgrand. He will get you a raptor.“

„That's a big honor, Garen. You don't have to.“

„You won't get to the uncharted waters by boat. The ocean is full of voidspawn and things I'd rather not think of.“

Poppy closed her fingers around the precious jewel and pressed her fist to her breastplate. „Thank you, friend. I'll be back as soon as I can.“

The knight smiled, and then he too pressed his closed fist to his heart in a regal farewell. His blessing made the entire journey a little less daunting; Poppy's mind rested easy knowing that the fate of Demacia lie with somebody who walked in the footsteps of Orlon himself.

  
  


What seemed like a hundred years to a simple swallow was just a little over a full day to a determined knight and her swift raptor. The majestic beast glided above the dark waves like a skybound god, and Poppy would've endlessly admired its silver wings were it not for her growing anxiety. If her dreams were indeed visions, then perhaps she was close to the Hero now, and close to completing the task given to her by Orlon. This excited her, but...

What was her fate after that? Was she to return to Garen's side and serve in the Demacian army? Did Orlon expect her to become the Hero's squire? Was it time to return home, to Bandle City?

She wanted nothing more than to fulfill the will of her oldest friend, but she never thought about what came after. Was this her sole purpose? Maybe she was going to die while passing the hammer on; maybe her role and meaning simply ended there. The thought made her despondent, but her shaking hands pressed the raptor on; she was afraid of death, but she wasn't in the habit of running away. Perhaps she and the Hero were meant to fight for the hammer...

Lost in her worries, she almost did not notice when a small rocky island appeared on the horizon. Foaming waves crashed against its shores and the lighthouse that stood there, and seeing now that it was not just a figment of her imagination, Poppy wondered who built the tower and why. So far from Demacian shores, it served no purpose here; it must've been a lone remnant of a kingdom lost to the ocean, or the hiding place of a solitary spirit. It seemed so fateful that if the Hero truly awaited Poppy's arrival somewhere, it was here.

The raptor landed near the ruined entrance, eager to catch some fish and sate its hunger after the long journey. Poppy saw that the topmost window of the spire was open, its shutters beating against the crumbling walls as the sharp wind threw them about. Yet the tower seemed abandoned, and when Poppy called out, nobody answered her.

„Attaboy,“ she turned to the raptor instead, patting its feathered back and pushing herself off of it. The animal gave her a single affirming look, as if it was assuring her that it would wait for her, and let the knight go and knock on the rickety door. The sound was entirely drowned in the splashing of the howling ocean, and so Poppy tried again, this time beating her fist against the crumbling planks. Her force was a bit too much for the old wood; the decrepit gate cracked and collapsed, allowing her to simply walk into the tower. Poppy frowned, swallowed and stepped onto the narrow stairway inside.

„I come on the behalf of Orlon,“ she cried into the tower, „is anybody here?“

Receiving no answer, she resolved to push on. All the rooms she passed were either ruined or full of dust and salt, and as she neared the tower's peak, she thought that perhaps she came too late. She had little hope left when she finally reached the top, and so the greater was her surprise when she discovered the spire was not abandoned after all.

A girl stood in the final doorway; a yordle, like herself. She stared at her, her eyes full of bewilderment; her cheeks, almost entirely hidden underneath a mane of violet hair, were sunken with starvation.

„You're not him,“ the girl announced, and before Poppy could ask anything, the mysterious stranger turned around and ran back into her room. She left the door open, and so the knight slowly followed, carefully scouting the austere bedroom with her eyes.

„I talked to them,“ the famished yordle stood by the window, leaning against the frame, „ _begged_ them to tell him to come back. What happened? Why did he not...?“

She shudded and pulled her head between her shoulders. Not long after, a series of quiet sobs began mixing with the whistling of the wind outside. Poppy was confused, uncertain what any of this meant, but she was not heartless. Swinging her hammer from one hand to the other, she approached the stranger and tried to gently pat her back.

„Who were you waiting for?“

„I—„ the girl managed, but then her voice broke again; weeping, she turned around and pressed herself into Poppy's arms, so hurt by whomever was supposed to come instead of the knight. And Poppy finally understood that her dream was not meant for her, and in a way she felt relieved that her journey was to continue. She said nothing of that to the lamenting stranger however, instead holding her close until the tears numbed her grief.

„I was here with somebody,“ the girl finally explained, sniffling. Poppy had no tissue to lend her, but she graciously tore a strip off her burlap cloak and offered it instead.

„Somebody?“

„He was a wizard, but then he left.“ The purple-maned yordle blew her nose into the strip, wiping her tears away with her wide sleeves. „I think he thought I could get away alone, but I can't! I can't fly or turn myself into a fish - even though I wish I could. If only he wasn't so afraid.“

„Afraid?“ Poppy asked, „the wizard? What was he afraid of?“

„Himself, of course,“ the girl said as if it was obvious, „that's why he's always running. I wake up and he's gone. It's always like that.“

„It seems that you need to find yourself some better companions,“ Poppy noted and motioned towards the door, „come. I'll take you home.“

„Home,“ the girl repeated as Poppy stroked her back, „where the rivers are, the meadows and the sunflowers. I miss the sunflowers the most, they always have—something interesting to say. Have you ever—spoken to one?“

„To a sunflower?“

A blissful smile crossed the violet girl's face, and Poppy thought she was simply reminiscing, but then she collapsed entirely, too worn out by thirst and famine. Poppy was quick enough to catch her, and she was quick enough to decide that she was bringing the stranger back with her to Demacian shores; she wasn't going to simply let her die out here. That Poppy _almost_ certainly knew she wasn't the Hero didn't mean that she was suddenly about to stop acting like one.


End file.
